


Wild Hunt

by OldBeginningNewEnding



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (but is it tho), ABSFZ, And they're not even subtle about it, Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Courting Rituals, Courtship, Fae & Fairies, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Inaccurate Faerie Lore, M/M, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Attraction, Written for A Big Spooky Fan Zine, between Eldan and Aziraphale, this is also probably why Crowley hated the 14th century, we're just here for a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldBeginningNewEnding/pseuds/OldBeginningNewEnding
Summary: In the 14th century, due to miracle restrictions set upon him by the Church and Heaven, Aziraphale has been secretly moonlighting as a healer to aid his mortal charges. Unbeknownst to him, the angel catches the attention of one of the fae. A Wild Hunt is called and Aziraphale finds himself captured and taken beyond The Veil.Now Crowley must save his angel from certain peril. He just hopes no one's offered Aziraphale any cake.----Aziraphale quickly assessed his situation and narrowed his options as followed:A) He was captured by this faerie who was planning on making him a pet for all his immortal life or until he tired of him—or worse, when Gabriel came looking for him.B) His spirit was stolen from his corporation and was made to join the hunt.C) He was going to discorporate.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Male OC/Aziraphale
Comments: 22
Kudos: 102
Collections: ABSFZ Halloween Good Omens Works





	1. Captured and Captive

**Author's Note:**

> something silly between all the horror and dark fics I wrote this Halloween season c: the second part is already written, so stay tuned~

The clouds were heavy with rain today.

A bad omen, some would mutter under gruff voices, for it had been sunny and bright mere hours before. But for Aziraphale, the rains were a staple for his (rather modest) garden and the soil _had_ been a little dry the past couple of weeks. He nearly rejoiced at the sight of darkened skies that morning. Well, _that…_

And the fact that it would be too wet to go to the forest.

Which was _fine_ by Aziraphale.

His potion could sit in the hearth for another day. He was content to stay seated by the fireplace, enjoying the extra time it afforded him to leaf through his tomes. He opened a window, allowing the cool autumn air to drift through his cottage as he listened to the roll of thunder that rumbled through the skies.

And through the ground.

Aziraphale frowned at the steady tremors from the earth. The broth boiling in the fireplace rippled, trickling and spilling onto the hearth from the increasing intensity. The winds howled and shrieked in the distance and Aziraphale inwardly sighed. The storm, _of course_ , would be a bad one—bringing with it some nasty disruptions to the earth.

He’d stumbled upon “magical practice” some time ago. While working in the churches didn’t go against Heavenly duties, he still found himself quite stifled in what he could and could not do under his superior’s watchful eye. Every miracle was catalogued and every person seeking aid that the church turned away for whatever reason was deemed unworthy of receiving Aziraphale’s healing.

So, moonlighting as a healer it was.

Of course, he still had to be careful about the number of miracles he performed—hence devoting time and training to approaching healing the human way. Ingenious creatures they were—some managed to learn the medicinal properties of nature and some even learned how to harvest the powers of the earth for their own benevolent—and occult—practices.

The angel removed the pot from the fire, a whole remedy nearly going to waste at the thrum of the strange energy electrifying the sky. He wasn’t sure what manner of creature was making such a huge ruckus, but it was definitely upsetting the atmosphere in some way.

“It may be more than just one…” Aziraphale murmured, heading to the door. Maybe he could get a better idea of the situation outside. Against better judgment (and mournfully leaving his tomes for another day), Aziraphale pushed the door open—

—and subsequently slammed the door shut.

_What in the—!?_

The angel fought to calm his jackrabbiting heart, back against the sturdy wood. He then scoffed. He decided that he was probably just— _hallucinating_ from that strange tea the old beggar woman had given him after he treated her aching limbs. There was most certainly _not_ a Wild Hunt spearheading their way towards his cottage, and everything was _most likely_ fine.

Yes—that’s right! All just a very…lucid…hallucination.

He judged that everything was _so_ fine in fact, that it was perhaps best to dismiss the visions of ethereal huntsmen charging directly overhead.

Yes…just…go outside…find nothing but a stormy sky…and go back in. Seemed like a good plan. With that, Aziraphale opened the door and stepped outside.

—only to be literally _plucked_ from the ground within the first ten paces.

* * *

Eldan had waited in patience, the mortal seasons passing through his immortal eyes, the years blending seamlessly. Had all this gone according to plan, he would have at least three more human years until he could return to the mortal realm and claim the hand of his intended: a kind, cherubic man apprenticed in the art of magical healing he met one summer’s day while under the guise of a mortal child.

But things _hadn’t_ gone according to plan.

So, Plan B it was.

In the end, it mattered not. Whether it happened sooner rather than later, his dearest love would still be in his arms before he spirited him away. There would certainly have been less… _flailing_ had it been later rather than sooner, but Eldan certainly wasn’t going to complain.

Especially at seeing how…beautifully his bride had remained since they last met.

_“OOHHH—OH NO, OH DEAR, PLEASE SLOW DOWN—”_

His fretting was at least absolutely _adorable_ —another fine attribute that made him so very unique! If only he’d stop startling his steed, that was. “Shhh, calm yourself, love,” Eldan soothed, adjusting reins in his hands so he could better support the man currently in the throes of panic.

At suddenly realizing that his captor spoke human tongue, Aziraphale stiffened immediately. Darting a quick glance at the unearthly beautiful face looking down upon him, Aziraphale quickly assessed his situation and narrowed his options as followed:

> A) He was captured by this faerie who was planning on making him a pet for all his immortal life or until he tired of him—or _worse_ , when Gabriel came looking for him.
> 
> B) His spirit was stolen from his corporation and was made to join the hunt.
> 
> C) He was going to _discorporate._

As of right now, none of the choices were faring too well for him. But as his captor looked down at him expectantly (or rather…with a disturbingly affectionate smile), Aziraphale found himself silently rooting for option C.

It would save him from having to explain to Gabriel why he needed rescuing at least.

He’d take the paperwork over untangling _this_ mess any day. “Err—hello,” Aziraphale managed to get out—and was immediately mentally kicking himself for greeting one of the fae so crudely.

This would not bode well for him.

But strangely (a funny thing to say when you were hefted and hauled right into a stranger’s arms among a horde of faerie huntsmen making their mad pursuit through the skies), this faerie didn’t seem the least bit bothered by his inelegant greeting. Ah well. This fae probably thought all humans were rather dimwitted anyways.

((While Aziraphale disagreed, he might as well live up to the stereotype to pass as mortal.))

The fae smiled kindly down at him. “Hello dearest. It’s wonderful to see you again.” At that, Aziraphale’s brows shot up past his curls.

_Oh no_.

“I apologize for coming at such short notice,” the fae continued, eyes now trained to the path before them. His smile then widened and his hold on Aziraphale tightened. “But I did promise I’d be back for you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale blurted out. “ _Where_ —and _when_ have we met?”

_And what **promise?**_

The fae chuckled. “Ah…it’s a shame I didn’t reveal myself to you sooner, but then again, you were far too protected at the time.” Aziraphale continued to gawp. Had a faerie been stalking him?

_This would not bode well._ Even angels had to keep themselves hidden from the fae—if this faerie had discovered his ethereal nature, then— _oh._

_Oh, Gabriel was not going to like this._

“Perhaps…” the faerie hummed. “You remember a summer’s day, years back in your apprenticeship. A lost child in the forest…your first official patient and your first herbal remedy to treat a mere scraped knee?”

Aziraphale’s sea-storm eyes widened.

_A newly apprenticed Aziraphale wandering through the wood to collect the ingredients he needed for his first tonics, eager to learn the human methods and culture. A lovely child with flaxen hair and golden eyes, crying beneath an old willow. A scraped knee and soothing hands gingerly wrapping the wound. A walk through the woods, the boy tugging at his tunic all the while, until they reached his master’s cottage. A medicine he made—his first patient watching him with curious eyes. A knowing smile from his master and a pat on his shoulder for a job well done._

_An afternoon spent searching for the boy’s parents while the boy played under summer rays and the cool shade of towering trees, his smaller hand latched onto his own all the while. An unnaturally bright smile on the lost boy’s face as they wandered deeper and deeper into the woods until Aziraphale could no longer trace his path back to his master’s cottage._

_A setting sun and night beginning to fall._

_A quiet request from the child to come away with him, come away before the little boy was made to leave._

_A confused shake of his own head at the request was that was met with a sad look on the boy’s face._

_An insistence from his own lips to find his parents and get back to where he belonged._

_A promise from the boy’s lips, that next time—_

Next time…he would take Aziraphale with him.

“Do you remember now… _angel?”_ the fae asked, eyes shining a bright, shimmering _gold_.

Aziraphale could only continue to gape.

_Well_. That certainly explained the strange request to flee off with a strange child into the night. And it also explained why his master snuck a talisman into his pocket before they left, helping him find his way back to the cottage in the dark.

Aziraphale swallowed. His suspicions were right. There was something decidedly _off_ about that child—and now...

Now he knew exactly what Aziraphale was. “Eldan,” Aziraphale murmured, a name slotting into his memory.

At the utterance, a look of sheer elation lit up his handsome face. “You remembered…”

“Err, yes of course,” Aziraphale stumbled, still astonished and unsure what to say. “You look well,” he commented mildly. “The fae certainly grow fast.”

Eldan chuckled. “In truth, I wasn’t really a child when we first met.” Oh. _Of course._ As a fellow immortal, Aziraphale should have known better. “But…thank you,” he graciously accepted before sending Aziraphale a coy grin. “You yourself have remained as beautiful as the day I met you.”

_Oh no._

Aziraphale decided to ignore that last bit for now and concentrate on how things were starting to fall into place. While option C no longer seemed viable (at least, according to the kindness and courtesy Eldan had shown him), the new option that opened up was hardly an improvement either.

Aziraphale wasn’t a fool. He knew nothing good came of winning a faerie’s favor: whether it was a test of his character, a fleeting interest, or a desire to keep him (option A was still very much a contender)—it _rarely_ ended well for the other party involved.

Immortal or otherwise.

Plus, there was also the matter of the Wild Hunt itself. Members of the fae only led them during an impending catastrophe—war, plague, the _death_ of its witness—so forgive Aziraphale while he floundered about for a coherent way to ask: “What’s going to happen? Why did the fae call a Wild Hunt?”

Thankfully, Eldan wasn’t too mindful of his incessant questioning. “Members of the human kingdoms have become fearful and jealous of those practicing magic. Several have been denounced as having forged ties with demons to obtain powers strong enough to usurp the king and church.”

Aziraphale could only scoff. Likely one of _Crowley’s_ doing…

Eldan looked down, relief and comfort in his eyes at seeing Aziraphale safe in his arms. “They have already imprisoned healers and practitioners of white magic. While your celestial nature would likely keep you intact, I feared you would be targeted.” His frown deepened. “And I’m sure your superior would not take kindly with your involvement with accused witches and demons.”

_Oh._ “Uhm…thank you,” Aziraphale murmured, a sinking stone of dread settling at the pit of his stomach.

_He knows. He knows **far** more than he should—_

But Eldan merely kept that ever-present, warm, _kind_ smile upon his face. “There is no need to thank me, love.”

But that begged another question entirely: “Where are we going now?” Aziraphale asked.

“To my realm. You will be safe there—from the humans and your superiors,” Eldan assured and for all the niceties the faerie was bestowing him—this would not likely be the case. Eldan already lied to him once when he took the guise of a child and who knows _what_ could have befallen his fate if he had taken the faerie’s hand all those years ago.

Aziraphale swallowed down the panicked demands of _And how long am I going to stay there?_ and tried to focus on his next move.

While Aziraphale had full control of his miracles in the mortal realm, even as a Principality, he was unsure if he could wriggle his way out of this, err… “rescue” with an entire _hoard_ of fae at Eldan’s command. He was even _more_ unsure of what may become of his own powers once he passed through the veil to the faerie realm.

“And then…” Eldan continued, snapping Aziraphale from his thoughts. He gave the angel a tender gaze and a droplet of worry slid its way down Aziraphale’s gut. “I will be able to court you properly.”

“Ahaha…pardon?” Aziraphale said, though what he really wanted to say was, _WHAT THE DEUCE DO YOU MEAN BY **COURT** —_

“Your Highness!” another fae called, thoroughly ignoring the angel frantically struggling in Eldan’s arms. “We are approaching the kingdom. The rest of the fae have received your message.”

Eldan nodded. “Very good. Thank you, Dain. Send word to my father that I will be joining him in court shortly. I have…exciting news to tell him.” Okay _**no,**_ Aziraphale _definitely_ wasn’t imagining the soft, affectionate way the faerie was looking at him with that bright, excited grin of his and— ** _HIGHNESS?_**

The accompanying faerie bowed his head, uttering an “As you wish, Prince Eldan,” before falling back and descending with his mount to relay the orders given.

Aziraphale felt his very blood drain from his face. _“Prince?”_

_Prince_ Eldan had the nerve to give an embarrassed laugh. “Ah…right. I was going to tell you about that. I had planned on waiting until my father entrusted me with the throne and our people. Only then would it have been the right time to seek a queen and begin courting…but I didn’t want to risk you leaving me by waiting.”

_“Queen?”_ Aziraphale parroted more than asked.

“Yes, my Ambrose…”* The angel made a mortifying noise as Eldan held him close, his own traitorous arms automatically reaching to hang around the faerie’s neck and shoulders for stability. Aziraphale felt heat flash through his cheeks as the faerie took it as an opportunity to nuzzle him, assuring softy, “When the time comes, I will give your name as my intended.”

_Oh._

“You will be my queen once I reign.”

**_Fuck._ **

It was a bit of a tragedy that most of his previous options were exhausted and invalidated.

Option C was looking very nice right now.

* * *

Crowley just _knew_ Aziraphale was tangled right in the middle of this.

He sensed it, just as the fae’s army swept across the land—the bright, holy light he could always count on leading him back to Aziraphale, suddenly snuffed out as darker magics reigned the skies.

He’d meant to pay him a visit. He did so as often as he could without Hell’s presence hovering over his shoulder to ensure Aziraphale’s safety. Through a little demonic miracling of his own, he could easily distract and deter any prying presences that have attached themselves to the angel during their visits. The eyes that have been watching the healer might have slipped under his counterpart’s radar, but Crowley could sense something with teeming power just lying in wait.

His suspicions were confirmed when he walked into the angel’s cottage, potion unfinished by the hearth, open tomes left on the table, and no Aziraphale in sight.

Crowley cursed under his breath, no doubt spoiling the ruined remedy further as demonic rage and panic bubbled within him.

_Someone had stolen his angel._

* * *

“I _do_ appreciate the, uhm, wonderful welcome, but you see, I must—”

“Cake, my darling?” Eldan pushed a _delicious-_ looking slice, beautifully plated and decorated with cream and fruits, in Aziraphale’s direction.

The angel tittered a nervous laugh as he sheepishly pushed the…enticing delicacy away. “N-no, that’s all right—”

Eldan’s eyes seemed to darken at the response.

“I-I’ll have it shortly after the first course! Yes, desserts really ought to be served last,” he offered meekly. At that haphazard promise, Eldan brightened again.

Aziraphale sank down into his seat as another faerie noble greeted the prince with well-wishes and congratulations. The rest of the court murmured and buzzed with excitement, several eyes fixed on the angel in their presence. Eldan certainly had no compunctions on introducing Aziraphale as his _Prince Consort_ and revealing the angel’s true nature to the royal court, garnering surprise and intrigue, as well as sparking jealousy amongst the nobles.

At the very least, the King was charmed by his presence and welcomed him with open arms. Unfortunately, peculiar glint in the Faery King’s eye caused Aziraphale to bow to him almost immediately when he was presented before King Orophrander, making it _extremely_ difficult to refuse to stay—much less _deny_ this farce of a betrothal altogether.

And so, a feast was called and while Aziraphale’s corporation rejoiced at the sound of that, the angel’s immediate fear and sinking anxiety tamped down most of his hunger.

He knew the tales and knew to take as much caution as possible. The tiniest sliver of food or drink to pass through his lips would surely cage him here in the faerie realm forever.

He knew this. Eldan knew this. Aziraphale only hoped that he could bide enough time to enact an escape.

It would be difficult, however—maybe even near-impossible with the number of eyes on him.

Several of the fae clamored to meet him— _A real angel!_ they’d gasp—and the attention made Aziraphale squirm and shrink down upon himself like helpless prey.

Even more so, Aziraphale found himself embarrassingly underdressed amongst the heavily decorated fae. He was excruciatingly conspicuous in the white, flowing robe and plain slippers Eldan had readied for him—near-reminiscent of his days as the Guardian of a certain Garden—especially amid the Grand Hall, decorated lavishly with glistening pearls, ethereal flora, and sweeping banners of bright and colorful silks.

Well. At the very least…he had his wings to cover him.

“So dearest, tell me a little about yourself.” Aziraphale startled at the sudden question but calmed as Eldan’s glowing eyes of gold pinned him with a hypnotic stare. Aziraphale ceased his fidgeting, suddenly entranced, feeling warm, comforted, like he could bare 5,000-some-odd years of history if the Faerie Prince only asked. 

He fought valiantly against it. “W-what would you like to know?”

Eldan looked pleased. At least, Aziraphale hoped he did as the fae placed his palm on the table. Unbidden, Aziraphale—to his horror—found himself laying his hand atop the prince’s. “I’ve only heard myth about angels—is it true you’ve been on Earth for as long as its creation?”

“Yes—since the very beginning,” Aziraphale said, fighting to shut his mouth. “I—I was tasked with guarding the first humans.”

“Is that so?” Eldan’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Heard things didn’t go right after a while, hm?” He gave a laugh, bright, beautiful, and cutting. Aziraphale found himself echoing the sound weakly. “Well, I believe we know how that story ended, but the _Garden_ …”

Aziraphale felt his breath catch.

“Some say it still exists—”

“—I mean, it was _hardly_ my fault, you know!” Aziraphale blurted out, panic causing his heart to nearly leap out of the cage of his ribs. “You take your eyes off of them for _one_ second and then this, this, _wily_ _snake_ slithers on by and offers a fruit—and then they’re suddenly banished—”

“A _wily_ snake?” Eldan asked, brow raised.

“—and—and it’s a _bit_ unfair, you know—I mean, I’m not one to question The Almighty—oh _no,_ not me, but for a first offense, it’s _rather_ harsh, don’t you think?” he asked, eyes pleading and mouth running—

_Anything_ to keep knowledge of the Garden out of reach.

Eldan nodded, unsure what to make of the (apparently) rather…touchy subject.

“And—there were all manner of _beasts_ out there! And she was _expecting!_ ” he gasped, looking to Eldan with a harried, anxious look. _Stop—stopstopstop **stop** — _“And so, I went ahead and said—”

Eldan let out a laugh and Aziraphale shut his mouth immediately, the spell breaking that instant. “I see I’ve hit a sore spot!” Aziraphale sighed in sweet relief at the promise of a shift in subject matter. The prince patted Aziraphale’s hand, the gesture charming, if not for the insincerity in his sympathy. “Fret not, darling. You won’t have to contend with mortals and _wily snakes_ here at our Kingdom.”

Aziraphale stiffened, a sudden feeling of loneliness and emptiness echoing in him at the fae’s words. A flash of another pair of golden eyes, warm and familiar, came to his memory.

“Yes. I…I suppose I won’t.”

* * *

Crowley cursed the fae, cursed the veil, and cursed Aziraphale.

Getting through to the fae’s kingdom was far more trouble than simply taking the stairs down to the smoldering pits of the underworld. He trekked through sodden bogs, darkened forests, and muddy swamps, gut curdling at the thought of what was happening to Aziraphale on the other side, what the fae might be doing to him, and how much worse the angel was making of the situation.

(The latter thought rekindled his weary spirits and pushed him onward.)

The demon had nearly sagged in relief at the sight of red, gleaming mushrooms, aligned in a perfect circle within a moonlit clearing.

The air felt heavy with tension—the aftermath of a Wild Hunt that spanned across a wide stretch of the region. If they had been targeting his angel, there was no doubt that a high-ranking fae had been the one to lead the huntsmen across the sky.

Crowley shivered at the thought of Aziraphale being imprisoned— _tortured—_ for his holy knowledge and for the secrets to his own magic—interrogated and _dissected_ for the fae’s personal gain.

At that grisly thought, Crowley hastened and stepped into the circle. A shiver rolled down his spine as the veil lifted.

“I’m coming Aziraphale—don’t you worry.”

* * *

This was torture.

Aziraphale smiled pleasantly as Eldan once more offered him a gorgeous-smelling meatpie, deflecting the offering with a fabricated, “O-oh well you see—my, my corporation is a _temple_ of divinity—made by the Almighty herself! I—I cannot _sully_ it with animal-food matter.”

Eldan’s eyes grew round and he nodded in understanding. Aziraphale congratulated himself for the swift lie—to which the Faery Prince then ordered his cooks to craft a vegetarian course for the _new_ Prince Consort.

Which was _fine._ It bought Aziraphale precious time to formulate a plan to get out of here—preferably _without_ discorporation and preferably _without_ inciting an offense great enough to lock him up in faery jail for all eternity.

“I see that you take obvious pride in your work as an angel,” Eldan began, making sure to tread carefully lest he incite more ramblings Aziraphale impulsively flooded the conversation with whenever Eldan asked a _fairly_ simple question.

Perhaps this time, the Prince should be more direct.

“But what of you personally, my love?” He smiled, those _lovely_ golden eyes glimmering with firebright intensity. “I don’t think I’ve even gotten your _True_ Name.”

Aziraphale felt his heart hammer in his chest. There was the faintest of trembles in his hands as he straightened the flowing robes he wore. “Ah…my dear, I believe I’ve told you—remember, years ago back at the—”

Eldan chuckled, chiding him softly with, “Now, now dearest.” His eyes darkened. “I know _Ambrose_ is not your True Name.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. _That’s it—_

_He doesn’t know my True Name_.

A plan quickly formed in his head and Aziraphale almost laughed at its sheer brilliance. _If I can make him believe he has my True Name, he’ll lower his guard and grow lax on security. After playing along for a tick, I can pull the wool over his eyes and then I’ll be free!_

He cleared his throat. “R-right! I do apologize, my dear. It’s ah. It’s a bit _different_ from human names you see—and I’m sure quite different from faerie names as well. I’m not used to uttering it out loud during introductions.”

“Perfectly understandable, my love! But you have no need for secrets here,” Eldan assured, lacing their fingers together and making Aziraphale’s insides churn.

“Right—” he muttered uneasily. “My name is—”

A commotion sounded from the halls.

“My Liege—we have a visitor!” Dain reported.

Eldan’s eyes narrowed as the King hummed in curiosity. “Is that so…and during a feast with our _very_ special guest?” The King gave a laugh, his interest piqued as the rest of the fae chattered amongst themselves worriedly, excitedly. “Very well! Send them in!”

Aziraphale felt his heart jump to his throat at the sight of a _familiar_ demon, sauntering through the halls in regal blacks and adorned with crimson jewels.

They locked eyes almost immediately, and an unbidden, impulsive, _catastrophic_ , _“Crowley!?”_ leapt from Aziraphale’s mouth.

In turn—and to Aziraphale’s utter horror—Crowley could only respond with an equally shocked, equally _disastrous, “Aziraphale?!”_

**_Oh no._ **

Aziraphale looked to the Faery Prince at his side, finding Eldan smirking as his hand tightened around the angel’s. “ _Aziraphale_ is it? What a _lovely_ name— _my_ Aziraphale.”


	2. Test and Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! But in other news: I PASSED MY BOARD EXAM WOOHOOOOO GUESS WHO'S GONNA BE A DOCTOR!

“Crowley, is it? You know the Prince Consort?” the King asked, eyes bright with bemusement.

Upon hearing the title, Crowley sputtered. “P _-Prince **Consort?!** —_ah, y- _yes,_ Your Highness. I am indeed…” he ground out, sending a (not-so) subtle glare over to the angel’s direction after catching himself.

Despite these circumstances that befell him through _absolutely no fault of his own—_

(( _You should have been more careful!_ a voice berated in his head. Some days it sounded like Gabriel, but as the millennia went by, that voice started sounding an awful lot like Crowley.))

—Aziraphale still felt himself shrink with embarrassment and maybe even guilt. This was, after all, _far_ from the first time Crowley had to untangle the angel from a mess.

And if Aziraphale were lucky, it wouldn’t be the last.

“I am the Demon Crowley.” He gave a sweeping bow, all dark grace and devilish charm that Aziraphale had seen come to play through centuries of temptation and wiling. “I have come here to _retrieve_ my counterpart.”

“He’s not yours to retrieve, _demon,_ ” Eldan spat, a challenge in his eyes. He laid his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, drawing the angel close. Aziraphale stiffened like a board, unsure what Crowley’s game plan was now. It was clear that the demon was relying on improvisation—which was honestly fair given the circumstances.

How could he have known that Aziraphale had gotten himself _engaged?_

“And he’s not _yours_ to capture like wild game and chain to an unwanted marriage,” Crowley rebuked with a chilling glare.

Eldan was unmoved by the accusation. “While the courting rituals and tradition of our species may differ—”

“Do those courting rituals include not giving the other a _choice_ in the matter?” Crowley sneered.

“—I still see no reason why my _beloved_ Aziraphale has to leave with the likes of you.” Eldan brushed his fingers against the angel’s plump cheek, eyes hypnotic and soothing. “After all, my darling likes it here, doesn’t he? I think he would very much rather stay…”

And—he was right, wasn’t he? It _did_ feel rather nice here, with all this wonderful food, such lavish parties, and such a nice, _handsome_ husband-to-be to boot. And Aziraphale felt so very warm and _so_ very comfortable against him—

“He _can’t_ be your consort,” came Crowley’s voice, slicing through the trance. Aziraphale shook his head, wrenching free from Eldan’s grasp and his gaze. Suddenly, Crowley was right beside him, pulling him away from his chair and steadying him on to his feet.

He looked to Crowley with relief, apology, affection (and perhaps a little bit of admiration). “R-right!” He turned to the prince, flinching at the glower he received as Aziraphale fumbled for his words: “I can’t marry you—err, no hard feelings dear—but I simply cannot because—”

“We’re betrothed,” finished Crowley.

“Right! We’re—” Aziraphale looked to his companion first for clarification, then again out of panicked outrage. “We’re— _!?”_

Crowley sent him a silent, **_seething_** look that had the angel complying immediately.

“Yes, exactly that! We’re _betrothed,”_ Aziraphale managed, valiant in his efforts to regain composure.

Crowley glared Eldan down, moving to place himself between Aziraphale and the faerie. “You can’t keep him here.”

“Perhaps in the realm of mortals, such a predicament could hold weight. Perhaps even in _your_ respective domains. But…” Eldan stood tall, imposing, _looming_ over the two with his poison-honeyed gaze and blade-sharp smile. “Here—within _my_ realm—”

“ _Our_ realm, my boy.”

Eldan stiffened as King Orophrander rose from his throne. The prince hesitated under his father’s stern stare and the chattering masses silenced immediately. Beside Aziraphale, Crowley snickered, to which the angel hushed him with a sharp jab to his side.

“ _If_ we are to believe our guest, then it would simply be unprincipled to part these… _lovers,_ so,” he scolded, the corners of his lips upturning with callous delight. “Prince Eldan, do you wish to incite a spot of _trouble_ between our three people?”

Eldan faltered. “Not…in particular…but—”

“But _nothing._ ” The King seated himself and, hesitantly the crowd did much the same. “A choir of angels, we may be able to sway and take stand against, but a _legion_ of demons on top of that—”

A spark lit up Eldan’s eyes and the previous confidence Aziraphale had been cautiously building at Crowley’s ingenious plan dissipated to wariness. “But they _don’t_ know…do they, Aziraphale?” Eldan turned to them, his smile polite, stance pragmatic, but his eyes were hard and calculating. “Your superiors are unaware of your… _relations_ with this demon, aren’t they?” He gave a chuckle, though his next words chilled the angel to his very core: “Especially not _Gabriel_.”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley, finding the demon glowering back at the faerie, his gaze hard and jaw clenched. Aziraphale tried again, this time at another angle: a plight to reason. “What is it that you _want_ , Prince Eldan?”

The prince blinked at him once, then twice, before giving a gentle, lovely laugh. “Why—to have you by my side, of course!” Aziraphale fought the urge to take a step back as the prince crowded him, imposing despite Crowley’s efforts to get in between them. “You’re a stunning creature, do you know that? So very kind, so very giving, so trusting and so eager to do good—such a precious heart…” He gave another sickly-sweet smile—though his words were unkind and cold: “I felt it, you know—the time you _miracled_ that scrape away. Such power…and yet you hold back so much. Is it _benevolence?_ Is it just your _nature_?” Eldan’s gaze was eerie and bright, but it no longer gave Aziraphale that same, comforting, soothing spell. “I found myself entranced…and found myself unwilling to part with you.”

It was chilling, obsessed, and _mad_.

“Yeah, well—you’re a little too late on that end, I’m afraid,” Crowley bit out, holding Aziraphale closer. “He’s spoken for.”

“So…is that what you choose, _demon?”_ the prince countered. “I can’t promise that your _illicit romance_ will remain secret for long. Step one foot out of this realm and your head will roll before your feet even touches the ground— _I guarantee you that._ ” His eyes once more were turned on the angel. “But if you leave and my darling stays, you may keep your—"

“I’m not leaving without Aziraphale.” Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale tightened. “A life without him is no life worth living.”

Aziraphale felt his face flush and heart hammer in his chest. “ _Crowley_ …”

“But I _am_ willing to negotiate,” Crowley supplied—and all those fuzzy, flowery feelings withered to dust. “Let’s strike a deal—a _bargain_ if you will.” Aziraphale made this quite well known as he gave a rather vicious jab at the demon’s ribs with his elbow. 

“A bargain?” Eldan echoed thoughtfully, thoroughly ignoring Crowley’s resounding yelp of pain.

 _“Yesss,”_ Crowley hissed, tuning out the angel’s indignance. “Your kind likes to play _games_ , isn’t that right?”

The prince hummed, curiosity both piqued and entertained. “…I’m listening, demon.”

“A set of trials. For Aziraphale’s hand,” Crowley offered and _oh no—_ oh **_no_** _,_ they were _not_ about to go up against the _fae_ in a **_game_** —“If I win, we leave—and you and the rest of your kind keep your mouth _shut_ about _our_ business.”

Eldan gave a smile. “Very well.” Charming, beautiful, and _cruel._ “And when _I_ win?”

“ _IF_ you win…” Crowley sneered. He then looked back to the angel, a pinched look on his face that told Aziraphale that they would have some Words over this in the near-distant future. “You _still_ have to shut your mouth about _our_ business…and you’ll also get Aziraphale’s eternal soul.”

 ** _“CROWLEY!”_** _Now_. Aziraphale would very much like to have some Words **_now_** _._

“Deal!” the prince chirped in agreement. 

All devilish bravado aside, the demon instantly wilted upon turning to the _infuriated_ look in the angel’s eyes. “Sorry Aziraphale, but that’s demonic contracts for you!” The little _snake_ at least had the gall to sound sheepish at offering Aziraphale’s _eternal soul_ to this—megalomaniac! “Always with the souls…” Crowley mused. “That, or the firstborn male in your line.”

“A _contract_?” Eldan scoffed. “A faerie’s word is binding!”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, but demons need it in writing.” With a snap of a finger and a flash of hellfire, a parchment manifested from the soot and ash, scrawling with bureaucratic verbiage and legal jargon in ant-sized print. With another flick of the demon’s wrist, a quill bloomed from the tips of his fingers. He jabbed it in the prince’s direction. “Sign here.”

Eldan tore his eyes away from the script with a scowl and looped his signature on the dotted line.

Crowley, in true stylish fashion, signed his signature with a lick of hellfire to his thumb. And Aziraphale, with great reluctance and much remorse at being played as a prize for two _insufferably_ obtuse men, did much the same with his own miracled pen and ink.

“Wait…this doesn’t mean I’ve made a contract with Hell, does it?” Aziraphale asked, his angelic print scorched onto the parchment.

“A bit too late to be second-guessing,” Crowley drawled. Once invoked, a pulse of demonic energy reverberated through the air as the parchment combusted and dissolved to ash; a sigil now marred the three’s palms—a sign of an unholy pact.

The angel shivered. “That made me all tingly.” In truth, Aziraphale felt downright queasy as the situation sank in and as he marveled at the satanic etching inked onto his skin. He just hoped it wouldn’t leave a stain once the contract was fulfilled; he’d kept this corporation spotless for millennia, after all.

“Right then…” Crowley kept his eyes focused on the King of the realm who watched them with punishing delight. “What are we playing?”

* * *

“ _Blooms in the winter, blooms in the spring_ —Crowley, have you any luck finding anything?” Aziraphale called, just before making a hasty retreat to the main path as the rather docile little plant he’d been inspecting suddenly grew teeth and an attitude.

“We’ll be fine, angel,” he drawled. Aziraphale huffed at the sight of the demon reclining comfortably on a tree stump.

As if he _hadn’t_ just offered up Aziraphale’s eternal _soul_ for some cheap thrill. “ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale started, voice lilting and sweet. “I’d very much appreciate it if you _took this more seriously!”_ he viciously hissed.

“I _am!”_ Crowley said, affronted by the mere implication that he _wasn’t_ helping Aziraphale save his skin (and his soul!) and was instead sunning himself lazily on this fine, bright afternoon by the glen.

“Well, what are you waiting for—come help me find that—that— _blast it_ ,” Aziraphale huffed. It was bad enough that the fae chose a _riddle_ as their first challenge, but Aziraphale hadn’t even been privy to it when the King called the trial! “What did they tell you again?”

“ _It blooms in the winter, blooms in the spring_

_It grows in the lands of peasants and kings;_

_Many may wither, many may die,_

_Few can meet eternity's eye,”_ Crowley recited with perfect memory, perfectly content to watch Aziraphale’s face contort with equal parts exasperation and equal parts panic.

“Oh dear…” The angel wrung his hands nervously. “All these years living as a healer, and yet…” He looked about him. All manner of iridescent petals and blossoms dotted the forest floor, ceiling, and walls—all very lovely, all potentially poisonous (and perhaps even venomous), and all _wholly_ unfamiliar. He sighed, settling down next to Crowley on the soft blades of grass. “I don’t believe it’ll help us at all.”

The demon leaned against him, a solid weight to ground Aziraphale amid his buzzing thoughts. “I told you angel—s’all right.” Even if said demon _was_ acting far more composed than he had any right to be. “I’ve got it taken care of,” he assured with easy confidence.

Confidence that made Aziraphale bristle immediately. “Like how you took _care of that situation back at the Great Hall!?”_

Crowley raised a brow. “You still on about that?”

“ _Yes!”_ the angel hissed. “Crowley—I think that one should consult the other _before_ offering the other’s **_soul_** up in a—a _bargain!”_

Crowley sighed. “It was the best option we had at the time.” Beneath the indifference and poise, the weariness and stress began to show between the cracks of his façade. He looked to Aziraphale with grim remorse. “Believe me, _I **tried**.”_

“I—I know,” the angel conceded. He let out his own breath and leaned back against Crowley in turn. The fae were beside themselves with fright the moment Crowley entered the hall and found Aziraphale—consciously or not, they were reacting the heady pulses of demonic energy Crowley was emitting in order to manifest a miracle. But to no avail. “I feel my power weakening here.”

Crowley nodded. “Much the same on my end. Time moves different here than from the mortal realm.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened. So _that’s_ what Crowley was hoping to achieve. The dread that seated itself deep at the pit of the angel’s stomach began to take root.

This meant they couldn’t solely rely on their stronger miracles to lend them an advantage during the trials either.

Beside him, Crowley shrugged. “At the very least, this world upholds contracts.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Indeed.” So… a contract really _was_ their only way out of this bind…especially given how willing Eldan was to forfeit Aziraphale’s own _life_ just to have him. The thought of being chained to such a vile creature made Aziraphale downright nauseous. And through Crowley—they at least had a fighting chance. Gratitude and guilt warred with one another as he admitted, “I…I’m thankful, you know. For…”

“Coming to your rescue?” Crowley smirked, teasing and just a _mite_ maddening. “ _Again_ , might I add?”

“For _being_ here,” Aziraphale huffed. “As _insufferable_ a creature as you are…”

Crowley chuckled, wearing that same, pleased little grin he always gave whenever Aziraphale acted a bit less angelically than proper, yet just enough for Crowley to absolutely adore him. “But you’d take me as your betrothed over tall, oppressive, and creepy, right?”

There was another question there, hidden behind the ribbing and shared commiseration. But it wasn’t a question Aziraphale dared to answer just yet.

Probably not for a very long time. “How long do we have left to find the answer to the riddle?” Aziraphale asked, wordlessly pleading that they hold off this conversation for another time, another day.

If they had the chance, anyways. “Oh, I’d wager somewhere around 10 seconds.”

“ _Ten—WHAT!?”_ Aziraphale clutched at his chest, looking very much like he was about to undergo cardiac arrest. “C-Crowley, you can’t possibly be—”

Crowley bit back a laugh. “And— _time_.”

Aziraphale held on for dear life as a cloud of unfamiliar, _un-_ holy power shrouded his vision with an electrifying air. He felt faintly dizzy, slightly nauseous, and _very_ afraid as colors and sounds fell away for a few jarring seconds. As the smoke cleared, the angel found himself once again in the Great Hall before the King himself and Prince Eldan. The latter was currently glaring daggers right at them both and after seeing just what position they’d entered in, Aziraphale could see why. “Ahaha…pardon, I was forgetting myself,” Aziraphale mumbled, moving to extract himself from latching onto Crowley like fungus on a fallen log.

Crowley defiantly held him in place.

The King fought back a smile as his son scowled. “And thus, ends our first trial,” he decreed. “Challengers, present your answer!”

Aziraphale felt faint as Crowley half-carried him to stand before the King together. Eldan stood opposite of them, grinning in triumph after reading the distraught defeat in the angel’s eyes.

“Prince Eldan, what is your answer?” the King inquired, peering curiously at the similarly empty-handed prince.

Eldan gave a sweeping bow as he presented an empty hand to the King. “ _Behold_ —” Only for a pearlescent flower to bloom between his fingertips.

“ _Showoff_ ,” Crowley scoffed.

The blossom was delicate in appearance; it looked almost translucent with frosty edges and icy shades coloring the stigma and anthem. Upon closer inspection, Aziraphale nearly kicked himself. He’d seen several of them peppering the glen!

“—the Imperial Snowdrop,” Eldan announced. “It grows wild in our lands, blooming all year. However, it produces a special sap that when it feels threatened, it can encase itself—thus preserving the flower for eternity.” He turned to Aziraphale, offering the blossom with a playful glint in his eye and a winning smile. “For you, my beloved.”

“Err…thank you,” he said, awkwardly accepting the gift despite Crowley’s indignant squawk. A crowd of fae swooned behind him and Aziraphale silently prayed to Her for inner strength.

“The Imperial Snowdrop also embodies the symbol of marriage. It is truly the _heart_ of our people.” Eldan sent him a wink and Aziraphale very nearly dropped the flower as if it burned him. “Bear that in mind, love.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Aziraphale ground out, sending a scathing glare to Crowley’s direction. “I’m sure after this _crushing_ defeat, there’ll be _some_ occasion or other to use it.” 

“And you, demon Crowley?” the King inquired, just as Crowley opened his mouth to argue. “What have you brought before the court for your first trial?”

Crowley scoffed, tugging Aziraphale along (and petulantly shouldering the prince aside). Aziraphale gave an audible gulp as they stood before the king—quite literally empty-handed. But this time, there’d be no miracle to bloom right at Crowley’s fingertips.

Instead, Crowley made a simple gesture to the angel beside him. “Why—I bring my love, of course.”

“Your—your _what?”_ Aziraphale asked with Eldan mirroring much the same.

The King chuckled, waving a hand for the demon to continue.

_“It blooms in the winter, blooms in the spring_

_It grows in the lands of peasants and kings;_

_Many may wither, many may die;_

_Few can meet eternity's eye;_

_It lives in a cage without lock and key,_

_But seeks another for company,”_ he finished. He raised an expectant brow. “This embodies love, does it not?”

Aziraphale’s breath caught, a giddiness in his head and heart at Crowley’s utter _brilliance_. He could almost _kiss_ him—

“Well, I’ve got mine right here,” the demon announced, patting Aziraphale, hand landing _far_ lower on the angel’s backside than deemed proper. Crowley leaned in close, perfectly pleased, scintillatingly smug. “See? I told you I had it covered.”

The King nodded sagely, giving his final verdict: “The first trial goes to the demon Crowley!” in spite of Eldan’s sputtering.

“Simply marvelous, Crowley!” Aziraphale whispered back. There was no doubt about that. “Now, remove your hand or I will remove it _for_ you.”

“Sorry,” he said, though his grin said otherwise. “I was forgetting myself.”

* * *

“A game of chance, is it?” The corners of Crowley’s lips lifted in a smirk. “Why? Don’t have any skill to show for?” he taunted.

Eldan was unperturbed as he expertly shuffled the deck in his hands, riffling rapidly and then again with a Kattar shuffle. He drew the cards into an even fan before neatly aligning them in a row on the table, taking a card and flipping them over in a line; with the numbers revealed, Eldan turned them over once more before fanning them into a circle, collecting, cutting, and riffling once more. “ _Skills_ , I have been blessed with plenty—”

Crowley snorted. “Not for word-play, it would seem.” 

“ _But—_ as they say, fortune favors the bold.” He held out the deck and with the twist of his hand, the cards seemingly disappeared. “And I aim to even the score with that alone.”

Crowley was going to pretend he didn’t notice the awed look in Aziraphale’s eyes at _le tour de passe-passe_ at play. “Going up against the _Luck of the Devil?”_ Crowley sneered, unimpressed at the reveal of the deck in Eldan’s opposite hand. “You sure about that, mate?”

Eldan looked past Crowley and towards the curious angel watching them. Catching those stunning sea-storm eyes, Eldan threw him a charming beam. Upon the adorably flustered look it earned him, Eldan found his grin softening to a smile and immediately felt himself hopelessly enamored all over again. “ _Absolutely_ ,” he replied, swiping the bottom card from the deck and throwing it to Aziraphale. The angel caught it with ease and immediately reddened after he turned it over. “ _No one_ can best the fae at a game of chance, demon.”

Eldan gave Crowley a lighthearted laugh, reveling in the seed of _doubt_ he’d planted, before handing him the deck.

“Draw.”

Crowley threw him a dubious look. He lifted his hand, wordlessly asking for Aziraphale to hand over the card Eldan threw him—a Queen of Hearts, _of course—_ before (clumsily) shuffling the cards himself. He then drew two cards and Eldan did much the same, keeping them both face-down.

Eldan leaned back against his seat, arms crossed, not bothering to take a single peek. Instead, he just gave that same, _smarmy_ smile. “I’ll stand.”

The demon glowered at him. The _audacity! “Same!”_ he barked out, just the _tiniest_ hints of demonic energy flaring as he laid his hand over the cards. In the background, Aziraphale gave a furious gasp.

((Eldan raised a brow but said nothing as he continued to stare down his opponent, gleaming gold against the demon’s hellfire gaze.))

With that, both participants turned over their cards to find their fates.

Crowley smirked triumphantly as he added up the numbers on Eldan’s hand. _“HAH—13!_ Better luck _never_ —”

—while Eldan raised a brow as he tallied up the demon’s. “22, hm? How queer.”

Crowley blinked. He looked over at his own cards before scratching his head. “…how queer indeed.”

“It’s quite impossible, you know,” Eldan pointed out.

“Quite impossible, yeah,” Crowley parroted.

Eldan rubbed his chin in thought. “One would say…almost _miraculously_ so.”

Crowley turned to look back to Aziraphale for any possible explanation—only to find his angelic counterpart looking quite ashen-faced and _quite_ guilty. Crowley gave a noisy exhale before announcing: “Hold on a tick,” as he stood abruptly from his chair and started towards a _very_ sheepish angel. 

“No, please,” Eldan said, waving him off. “By all means.” The prince hid a smile as the _very_ obvious quarreling commenced:

_“You sabotaged my hand!”_

_“ **We** sabotaged your hand!”_

_“My **hand** was sabotaged!”_

_Ah…sweet vengeance._ The prince chuckled as the King crowned him the victor for this round.

“Must be the _Luck of the Devil_. Tell me, are you ready to concede now, demon?” Eldan asked the moment Crowley trudged back to the table, scowling viciously and looking quite ready to kill.

“Well…you know what they say,” the demon countered, a sharp tongue being his weapon of choice: “Fortune in cards means misfortune in love, _Your Highness,_ ” he sneered. “And this game’s _far_ from over.” 

* * *

Aziraphale felt his stomach tie itself into knots as Prince Eldan and Crowley faced off once more before the King. This finale would decide their destinies and while he had no doubt that Crowley would fight tooth and nail for their freedom, just as well, the Prince of the Fae was equally dogged in his efforts to claim Aziraphale as his bride. Crowley may triumph in games of wit, but Eldan seemed to have luck in spades.

The deciding factor now laid in skill.

“So…we have come to the last trial,” the King announced. He stood before the men and the clamoring fae with extravagant grandiosity and sweeping theatricals. “To win fair angel’s heart, such a being of grace and beauty must be serenaded with skill and song—”

Crowley brightened at that and immediately leaned in to Aziraphale to whisper, “Not to worry angel, I’ve got this one in the bag.”

“—through a fiddle contest,” the King ended. The fae erupted into cheers.

All color drained from Crowley’s face at that very moment. “A…A fiddle contest?”

Blithely unaware, Aziraphale, too, cheered beside him and gave one of his delighted little wiggles. “Oh, Crowley, this is wonderful news! You’re simply _exceptional_ at the fiddle, we’re—dear? Are you all right?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Crowley croaked out, decidedly looking _very_ not-all-right. “Never better.”

“Ready yourselves gentlemen.” The King motioned for court servants to present the challengers with their instruments—beautifully crafted, impeccably tuned, identical pieces. Eldan took his fiddle and readied his stance and position to play. Opposite of him, another servant brought Crowley’s fiddle, though he was wholly ignored as the King motioned for the first challenger: “Begin—”

“Wait—” Crowley called out, startling Aziraphale, the court, and looking like he was hating himself for every second of it. “The… _ugh,_ the _Fairness in Hell act of 1275 A.D._ requires that I inform you…that if I am bested in a fiddle contest, _youwinAziraphale’ssoul,_ ” he rattled off with trailing confidence and sloping volume. “As well as a solid gold fiddle,” he ended lamely. 

“My dear, those are the stakes regardless—err, minus the solid gold fiddle,” Aziraphale pointed out. "Also, wouldn’t a solid gold fiddle weigh quite a bit and sound…ghastly?"

“The act also _obligates_ that any demon entering said contest use the damned thing,” Crowley groused; to drive the point home, he snatched the fiddle from the servant’s hand and subsequently almost dislocated his arm as it transmuted to gold in a flash of hellfire. “Despite it being mostly for show,” he grumbled beneath his breath.

“And…what should happen if the prince loses?” the King asked.

“Then he’ll only win a slightly smaller silver fiddle and both me and Aziraphale go free, as previously agreed.” Crowley thought for a second. “Oh, and I guess Hell will take one of you—him,” Crowley said, jabbing a finger to Dain.

The guard in question froze. _“What?”_

Eldan nodded. “I accept your terms.”

_“ **What?!** ”_

“Fret not, my friend,” Eldan assured with a confident beam. “I’m playing for my beloved’s heart and hand after all—and I certainly don’t plan on losing!”

Dain shook his head, lamenting, _“You hardly plan at all.”_

 _Damn._ The demon hoped that increasing the ante would have shaken him. Crowley attempted to relax; he had to keep up the bravado after all. “Well then. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Eldan might have the upper hand in equipment, but that meant little if he was a terrible player to begin with.

“With pleasure,” Eldan glared back, holding the fiddle in position. 

The court grew silent; Aziraphale sucked in a breath he didn’t need to take, Crowley very nearly prayed for the first time in millennia, and Dain braced himself, mentally kicking his own hindquarters for not settling his affairs _before_ trifling with the forces of Heaven and Hell.

Then, Prince Eldan began to play.

The melody began soft, haunting, and soulful; playing adagio, it evoked a yearning in Aziraphale’s heart. The fae murmured in quiet awe and the angel felt his stomach plummet. He dared not look to the demon beside him and instead entrusted his fate and faith that they would overcome.

Before he knew what happened, the world about him ceased and a tiny universe of music and passion bloomed in its wake. Despite the sinking despair at the pit of his soul—the soul Aziraphale might not be able to call his own for much longer—the angel couldn’t help but be _moved_ by the performance, a crescendo of fervor and frenzy, the piece climaxing to a fortissimo with admitting the prince had skill—and crashed to a caesura with the knowledge that they were both truly and utterly—

 ** _Fucked_** **.** “Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. “He’s…he’s rather talented.”

Eldan sent him a flirtatious wink. “Feeling thoroughly wooed, darling?”

“ _Showoff,”_ Crowley hissed. 

Aziraphale scoffed, snapping himself from the rather— _heady_ spell. “I—what— _hardly!”_

Crowley snorted. “Your knees are looking a little weak there, angel—”

 _“Hush_ Crowley,” the angel chided, ignoring the pink in his own cheeks. Aziraphale turned to the demon, those familiar serpentine eyes glaring balefully at him. He placed a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze and a bright smile. “I believe in you, dearest.”

Crowley laid his hand atop Aziraphale’s and squeezed back. He took in a breath and straightened himself. It was all or nothing now. “All right… here it goes…” he murmured, hefting the fiddle to his shoulder and tucking the lower bout beneath his chin.

“You can do it Crowley! Give them a _Hell_ of a show!” Aziraphale lauded and for all the things to pray for after millennia of giving Her the cold shoulder, Crowley simply asked that She damn him to Hell one last time, just to save him from the mortification.

Strings met bow and Crowley readied himself for a _Hell of a show_ indeed.

The resulting sound was somewhere between a flock of geese engaged in mortal combat or an alley cat having an eventful weekend night. It screeched and scratched, and every lopsided note somehow fell flat and sharp at the same time. Crowley dared not look up to see a disgraced Almighty, nor down to witness a disgusted Satan. It was horrifying, harrowing, and _hellishly_ humiliating.

At the very least, Dain was regaining some color to his face.

Aziraphale _had_ to be hallucinating all this. Perhaps Eldan did slip him some cake during the feast after all. “ _What in the—_ ”

“I can usually do much better than this, okay!?” Crowley defended. “This—bloody thing is just awful to play with!”

Aziraphale felt an oncoming migraine—either from his own impending doom or in the wake of Crowley’s musical ineptitude. “WELL SWITCH OUT FIDDLES—”

Crowley rolled his eyes with his entire body. “I **_CAN’T_** —I TOLD YOU, I’M _CONTRACTUALLY_ **_OBLIGATED_** _TO USE THE DAMNED_ —”

“Enough of this debacle!” Eldan commanded. The ensuing silence that followed made Aziraphale almost _miss_ the tuneless shrieking. In fact, he’d gladly take an eternity of the toe-curling, milk-curdling cries than face the triumphant smirk painted on the faerie’s handsome face. “I think we all know who the winner is.” He turned to Crowley with a mockery of sympathy, a gilded veneer of integrity atop the conceit. “You played _admirably_ , demon, but it seems it wasn't enough to win fair angel's hand.”

The gravity of the situation weighed down on Aziraphale’s shoulders all at once. He turned to the demon, face fallen, whispering a quiet, broken, “Oh…Oh, _Crowley_ …”

To which Crowley shrugged. “Right. A deal's a deal, after all.”

Gravity of the situation aside, Aziraphale felt himself nearly erupt with rage. “ _CROWLEY,_ YOU **_LITTLE_** —"

Aziraphale startled as the demon suddenly knelt before him, head hung low and shoulders drooped in defeat. “I’m sorry I lost, angel,” he murmured and Aziraphale sighed, the worst of his wrath simmering down as the cold realization of his loss and what it meant _truly_ sunk in.

“…it's…all right. You did your best—and I’m ever-grateful for that.” Aziraphale held back tears as he ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, doing his best to soothe him as well as indulging in this first and—perhaps final—luxury. “We’ll find a way, dear.”

A morose and skeptical, “Yeah?” sounded from the demon before him.

Aziraphale smiled, though the corners of his lips threatened to wobble, and his vision began to blur; he blinked rapidly and cleared his throat to regain composure. “Of course! I won’t—I won’t _ever_ stop trying to get back to you, Crowley!”

Crowley stiffened beneath his gentle hold. Those warm, familiar, golden eyes peeked up at him from where he knelt before the angel. “Do you mean that, Aziraphale?”

Fresh tears began to fall at the thought of only seeing those _cold_ , golden rings of Eldan’s for the rest of eternity—“Of course! A life without you isn’t a life worth living for me either!”

—and not the beautiful eyes of the demon he _loved_.

Eldan huffed, watching the amorous display with equal parts jealousy and equal parts contempt. He continued to pout as his father approached the two, the King laying a comforting hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Have you said your farewells?” he asked softly.

Aziraphale nodded, tilting Crowley’s face up to meet his own, and kissing the demon soundly on the cheek. “I believe so.”

The King nodded. “Very good. The Angel Aziraphale, Betrothed to Prince Eldan, you are to remain here in our realm forevermore. The Demon Crowley, you are hereby banished from our realm—”

“Hold on a tick,” Crowley said, cutting the old King off. He turned his gaze over to Eldan and upon meeting his eyes, with an absolutely _devilish_ smirk, Crowley snatched the slipper from under Aziraphale’s foot and chucked it at the fae.

Eldan caught it effortlessly, if not bewilderedly, as Aziraphale cursed colorfully at the demon before him.

Crowley sent him a self-satisfied wink. _“You forgot your prize.”_

At that, pillars of flames erupted from the earth as the sigils on their palms burned with the contract’s completion. The King staggered back as the whirling vortex of hellfire closed in on the angel and demon. He briefly caught a glimpse of a pair of night-black wings shielding the angel from wayward flares and embers as Crowley held Aziraphale close.

A devious cackle sounded through the air with an ominous and downright _diabolical_ message in tandem: “A DEAL'S A DEAL— _**SUCKER**!”_

There was a final flash of blinding light before all that was left where the pair stood were ash, soot, the faintest whiffs of something unholy, and the resounding glee of a demon who’d just played another contract holder like a fiddle.

“WAIT, WHAT—COME BACK HERE WITH MY SPOUSE!” Eldan screamed to the empty air. He dashed to his father as the King wobbled to his feet. He steadied King Orophrander before grabbing him by the surcoat and demanding, “What _happened_ —did he cheat? He must have! I _knew_ I should have never trusted that, that— _wily_ _snake_ _!”_ He whirled around to the other befuddled fae, demanding, “Where. Is. _That_. **_Contract_** _._ ”

As if by _miracle,_ a copy of said contract floated down out of thin air after fizzling to existence from a spark of hellfire. The King snatched it and quickly scanned the document with Eldan following suit from his shoulder. "Ah, it’s right here: _And should, I, the Demon Crowley, lose to the Faery Prince Eldan, the Demon Crowley shall relinquish_ —”

The King grew silent.

 _“Well?!”_ Eldan implored.

“…shall relinquish the Principalitee Aziraphale's eternal... _sole._ "

The silence that rang through the court was deafening. Prince Eldan looked at the slipper in his hands with equal parts horror and equal parts awe.

King Orophrander scratched his head. “Perhaps we ought to have read the fine print a bit more thoroughly.”

A golden fiddle popped into existence in similar fashion, dropping inelegantly from right above the Faerie Prince. The ensuing outburst was as thunderous as a hundred Wild Hunts combined.

* * *

Aziraphale gasped as he tumbled out from the faerie circle, back to the mortal realm, and most importantly—“What—what just happened back there?”

—with Crowley by his side. The demon grinned up at him as he swept the dirt off from his trousers. “What? Did you _honestly_ believe that I would ever bet your _soul,_ angel?” He scoffed, pulling Aziraphale to stand. “You wound me—”

Only to be knocked back down to the ground as Aziraphale barreled into him with a crushing embrace. “Thank you, Crowley,” he murmured, face buried at the cook of the demon’s too-warm neck. “I’m _so,_ very grateful.” Not that Crowley minded.

Crowley held him just as tightly, hiding a smile at the curve of Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Of course,” he stated, a simple fact. The _There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you_ was left unsaid, but not unheard.

They laid there like that for some time, heartbeat to heartbeat beneath a sunlit, cloudless sky. Crowley secretly etched that _perfect_ moment to his memory for all eternity.

Eventually (reluctantly), Aziraphale drew away. He wore a worried expression on his face. “…you know, Eldan might come back.”

Crowley sighed, disgruntled with his angel’s soured mood, but understood the risks to be real all the same. “That’s true.”

“He knows our names,” Aziraphale reminded him.

Crowley groaned. “… _right_.”

But then his angel was _fidgeting_ again, looking to Crowley with those same, sweet, pleading eyes. “It might…it might benefit us both if we were to keep in touch with one another.” Crowley’s brows shot up. “More often than usual, I mean,” Aziraphale needlessly clarified and needlessly sending Crowley a meaningful glance. 

Crowley felt his heart thrash beneath his ribs. “R-right!”

“Purely for business, of course,” the angel quickly added with a demure shift away from the demon.

“Purely for business!” Crowley agreed, not buying a single word of it. “Say…my offer—the one I made a few centuries ago, the arrangement—” He sent the angel a cautious smile. “It’s still on the table, you know.”

Aziraphale gave a tiny smile back and Crowley felt his heart soar. “How about we go for some lunch? We can talk about it over a nice meal.”

At that, Crowley made a noise of remembrance before patting down his tunic. “Oh, right—nabbed this for you while they weren’t looking,” he said, miracling a plate with the same tantalizing dessert from the feast. Crowley snickered. “You know, I was honestly worried someone’d offered you some cake back there and well, you know how that would have went if you accepted—But I mean, here, it should be fine, right?” he rambled.

“Crowley?”

Said demon blinked, unsure if he should be concerned at the wide-eyed look Aziraphale was giving him. “Yeah, angel?”

“For the record, I would have chosen you,” Aziraphale said, not even bothering to look apologetic as Crowley nearly keeled over in shock. “Over Eldan, that is,” he needlessly clarified. The _Over anyone, really_ was left unsaid—

But not unheard. “Right…good to know,” the demon wheezed out, helplessly wonderstruck and hopelessly besotted. 

“To lunch then?” Aziraphale suggested, cheeks burning and turning away from the demon to save himself from at least a _little_ bit of embarrassment.

Crowley nodded, gesturing for Aziraphale to take the lead, as he didn’t trust his tongue—reptile or human—to speak clearly at the moment.

And off the pair went on their merry way, after having overcome test and trial. An unforeseen future lay ahead of them, but regardless of the unknown and the obstacles in store—they now had the promise of one-another to depend on. 

That itself was worth its own weight in gold.

* * *

_Epilogue:_

* * *

“Say, angel…do you think we ought to change our names? Since they know ours and all.”

“Maybe…but I’m rather partial to this one, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said, taking a bite of cake. He resisted the urge to spit it back out immediately; it had gotten _upsettingly_ stale. Instead, the angel discreetly dabbed at his mouth with a miracled cloth. “Why? Fancy changing your name again?”

Crowley shrugged, dismissive and pensive all at once. “Just a thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first challenge was a riddle created by yours truly! The second game they were playing was blackjack, and yes the third challenge was totally a reference to the Robot Devil's "Fairness in Hell Act of 2275" from Futurama ("Hell is Other Robots"). One of our zine mods would have rioted if I didn't put it in c: 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this fic and hope you guys did too! I enjoy a bit of harmless (haha mostly harmless) fun from time to time as well~

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on [new-endings on tumblr](https://new-endings.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to say hi~


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